


The First Time Always Hurts

by vondrostes



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Sex, Bottom Harry, Canon Compliant, Clothed Sex, I guess???, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Nick Makes Bad Assumptions: The Fic, harry isn't straight nick is just an unreliable narrator, idk it's not Good Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 08:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vondrostes/pseuds/vondrostes
Summary: Nick knows the types of games straight boys like Harry Styles enjoy playing, but he is not a prize to be won.





	The First Time Always Hurts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wishforwishes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishforwishes/gifts).



> This is my first fic commission! It was a super fun prompt to work with & I finally had an excuse to bang out a quick Gryles oneshot over the weekend, so shoutout (again) to Madelyn for this. Mwah.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter: @TerranAlleen & @vondrostes. I don't bite, I promise.

The worst thing about Harry Styles, Nick realises as the boy is hanging off him—sloppy drunk in the back of a London nightclub—is that he crash-landed into Nick’s life about ten years too late.

The Nick of a decade prior, still coming into himself (or out, depending on how you looked at it), would have jumped at the chance to get between the nineteen-year-old popstar’s legs just for one night. Because secretly, all boys are curious for it. They all want to try it. It’s rarer than people think that a bloke won’t suck cock or take it up the arse just to see what all the fuss is about.

Harry is one of those easily corruptible straight boys, the ones Nick used to swallow whole and spit back out into the gutter without a second thought when he was done with them. In another life, Nick wouldn’t have thought twice about using Harry up until there was nothing left.

But Nick was older now. And Harry was a friend, genuinely. Nick liked him, a lot, and he wasn’t the type to say that just to say it. So to have Harry climbing into his lap, drunkenly trying to connect their mouths while some shite EDM blasted through the packed club—well, it just wasn’t on.

“Harry, come off it,” Nick said for the third time that night, gently pushing the kid off his lap and back onto the plush leather cushions of the booth they’d all squeezed themselves into so they could drink some more between songs.

“Wanna dance with you,” Harry replied with a bit of a whine. He wound his arms around Nick’s neck and clung to him like a limpet. A cute, curly, dimpled limpet.

“If I dance with you, will you stop groping me?” Nick asked, doing his best to sound put upon. In all truth, he enjoyed the attention; he just knew he wasn’t supposed to.

“Maaaaaybe,” Harry replied. He nuzzled his head against Nick’s shoulder.

Nick stood up with a sigh, dragging Harry along with him. “Off with you, then,” he urged, pushing the boy toward the writhing mass of bodies that he had no interest in joining.

He was hoping Harry would get distracted once he was surrounded by any number of attractive half-naked girls he could latch onto in Nick’s stead, but he was mistaken. Harry only clung to him harder, grinding his tragically flat arse against Nick’s pelvis in some poor attempt at drunken seduction. Nick already knew he’d be amused by this later.

“You could be pulling if you tried,” Nick remarked to him, having to lean in to speak the words directly into Harry’s ear.

“I am,” the boy replied. His mouth, hanging open and inviting, brushed wetly against Nick’s jaw.

Nick drew back reflexively from the touch of Harry’s lips, too close to his own, and swiped at the spit-damp skin like he was trying to swat a mosquito. “Maybe we should get you to bed.” Harry was already too far gone to answer.

Later, when Harry was tucked into Nick’s bed, out cold with his mouth still wide open, resembling a forbidden fruit both physically and figuratively, Nick wondered why the universe had selected him personally for such punishment.

Things were a tad easier in the morning when Nick could laugh at the events of the night previous over eggs and soldiers with Harry sat on the other side of his tiny kitchen table.

“You were lucky I was there, really,” Nick told him through a mouthful of toast. “To protect your heterosexual virtue. You looked proper fuckable, like. If you hadn’t been hanging all over me like I was your boyfriend, some bloke might have tried to take you home for the night.”

Nick hadn’t been looking at Harry while he’d been speaking, but when he glanced up at the end of his spiel, he was surprised at the raised-eyebrow scepticism on Harry’s face.

“Some bloke did.”

Nick cackled loudly at the retort and didn’t register the stormy look in Harry’s eyes until much, much later.

Things went a bit pear-shaped after that.

Harry was always around was the main thing. Nick couldn’t get rid of him all of a sudden, something that had never been a problem before when Harry had been jetting around the globe working himself to the bone. Now he was everywhere, an intrusive bit of teenage temptation worming his way into every piece of Nick’s life.

Nick figured out his game the second Harry tried to involve him in a discussion about who the hottest character in Thor was while they were sat on his sofa, sharing a bowl of crisps between them and waiting for Nick’s telly to reboot—or whatever the hell it was doing—so they could watch some bad reality TV for a few hours and forget about their real-word obligations.

“Thor?” Nick said incredulously. “You want me to pick the hottest bloke in Thor? They bleached Hemsworth’s eyebrows! Ugh, and the grease on Hiddleston. I’ll pass.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I know who I’d pick,” he replied, refusing to cave to Nick’s insistence that there was no one worthy of fucking in the entirety of the film.

“Oh yeah?” Nick lifted his eyebrows, wondering who Harry would pick to demonstrate to Nick that he was comfortable enough with Nick’s sexuality to indulge him in conversations about which guys in entertainment were hotter.

“Idris Elba.”

Nick blinked a few times. “Right. Yeah, I suppose I forgot about him. Not really my type, though.” Nick knew he came across as rather effeminate, but he wasn’t really into being tossed around and manhandled by big bulky blokes. He preferred to do the manhandling, if anything.

“Then what is your type?” Harry asked.

Nick took too long to answer. “No one in Thor, that’s for sure.” Nick wondered if Harry could read the real answer in his face, if that’s why he was embarking on this endeavour to bait Nick into experimenting with him, or whatever the end goal really was, because he thought Nick would be easy for it.

Nick wished he hadn’t grown to be so sensible, honestly. It was much less fun.

There was something almost endearing about how hard Harry tried to get Nick’s attention after that. Or there would have been if it hadn’t been driving Nick up the bloody wall with how obvious it all was.

It wasn’t like it would’ve been hard for Harry to find a bloke to fuck if he was that set on giving it a go. But maybe seducing Nick was part of the appeal, knowing that he could get someone like Nick—someone who prided himself openly on his independence—all wound up around his devious little finger. It made Nick sick to think about Harry being that selfish, that conniving, but he couldn’t keep himself from indulging Harry even so.

At least the mobile photos Harry kept sending him of his fingernails adorned in various shades of varnish were easy enough to respond to.

_Very glam rock, Popstar._

Harry sent the angel emoji back.

It became somewhat of a daily thing after that, until finally Nick stopped responding to them, and then eventually Harry quit sending him pictures altogether. Nick tried really bloody hard to convince himself it was for the best.

Then Halloween came around. Probably the last thing Nick was expecting to receive was a dimly lit photo of Harry wearing practically nothing at all—apparently Miley Cyrus’s exhibitionism had had quite the impact on the boy.

Nick stared at the photo long and hard without replying, only putting his phone down when it was time to catch his cab. He looked at it again during the party, then again on the way home, then again in his bed while his cock was straining against his belly, practically begging for attention. Nick didn’t give it. To either his dick or Harry.

If he’d expected the silent treatment to discourage Harry, he was quickly proved wrong.

Harry showed up in his fucking flat not one week later, sat casually on Nick’s sofa like he’d been invited in for a cuppa. Nick set his keys down in the foyer and stared at him, waiting for Harry to say something. He sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence, not when it was the self-absorbed teenage boybander who had broken in for god only knows what reason.

Maybe that made Nick God. Because he was pretty sure he knew the reason.

Harry sniffed loudly as Nick passed by him to go into the kitchen. “You’re still ignoring me, then?”

Nick opened the fridge, paused. “I’m not ignoring you,” he said evenly. “We’ve both been busy.”

“But I haven’t been to busy to text you,” Harry pointed out.

Nick closed the fridge without taking anything and sighed. “Please tell me you’re not here for what I think you’re here for.”

“And what if I am?”

It should have been cute, the way Harry puffed out his chest in defiance, like they weren’t both aware that he was just a wisp of a thing, so tiny Nick could throw him over one shoulder and dump him out into the street without breaking a sweat even though Harry was just that much taller.

Seeing him like that now just made Nick feel sad. Sad and old. Having a conscience was depressing.

“I’m not going to fuck you so you can scratch blokes off your bucket list, Harry.” It was blunt. Overly harsh, probably. Harry looked a bit dazed, like Nick had actually hit him. The expression on his face as a result sort of made Nick’s hands itch to do it for real. But like, in a fun sexy kind of way. And that just made everything so much worse.

“That’s not—” Harry started to say, but Nick was _done_ with this whole charade. Absolutely done with it. He wasn’t sure at which point his minor crush on Harry had morphed into the monstrosity of an obsession he was being forced to confront now, but it was time for this to end.

“You’re so bloody transparent about it. Did you really think I wouldn’t catch on?”

Harry blinked a few times. He still hadn’t moved from where he’d first been sat on the sofa when Nick had come in. “I was hoping you’d notice,” he said softly.

Nick laughed, loud and harsh. “Expecting, what, that I’d jump you first so you could rationalise later that you were just doing me a favour? I don’t think so.”

Harry frowned, tonguing at his lower lip. “You wouldn’t be the first guy I’ve ever been with, Nick. It’s not like—”

“Handies in the back of the tour bus don’t count, Styles. I know what young lads get up to when there’s no female company to be had, and it’s not the same thing.”

If Nick were inclined to have sex with Harry, he’d do it right. He’d ruin him for anything else. And Nick wasn’t willing to do that to him. Not when he could be perfectly happy as the straight womanising popstar the public knew and loved.

Someday, when Harry was married to the second-coming of Posh Spice with six curly-haired, green-eyed, hyper-as-all-hell tots running after him, he’d thank Nick for not corrupting him when he had the chance.

Harry’s nose twitched. It would have been cute if Nick didn’t know full-well it was evidence of how pissed he really was, that he was desperately trying to keep it in.

“Right,” Harry said flatly. “I think I should go.”

“You don’t have to,” Nick hastily reassured him—even though he’d known this was the likely outcome, even though he’d been half-hoping for it—but Harry was already shaking his head.

“No, I really do.” And then he walked out, just like that.

Nick didn’t hear a peep from Harry for a good three weeks after their row. But it wasn’t a big deal. Harry was busy. He was on the other side of the world. He was working. They’d be friends again as soon as Harry was back in London and he realised Nick was just trying to do him a favour.

But then One Direction landed back at Heathrow and still: nothing from Harry. Complete and total radio silence.

Nick gave it another day before he finally caved.

“Didn’t expect you to ring me,” Harry said when he picked up.

“Didn’t expect you to answer,” Nick admitted.

“Yeah, well. I’d have felt worse if I didn’t.”

“Right.” Nick wasn’t sure how to take that. He swallowed thickly. Grovelling would be too much. It’d just inflate Harry’s already over-inflated ego, and they couldn’t have that. But Nick knew, not quite so deep down, that if Harry had been standing right in front of him he would have had a hard time not getting on his knees. “Should we meet up for coffee, maybe? Talk things out?”

“Not sure what’s left to talk about.”

“Please, Harry.” The response was automatic, the soft words escaping Nick’s lips before he could think to hold them back.

“Okay,” Harry finally replied in a tiny voice.

Nick felt elated and destroyed, all at once, by just that quiet response.

They agreed to meet at a quiet little outdoor café near Nick’s flat. He decided at the very last minute to bring Puppy as a buffer, because he knew Harry couldn’t resist Puppy, and she was Nick’s secret weapon.

It was a good idea. Harry made a beeline for her as soon as he walked into the café, all the tense lines in his wiry frame disappearing in an instant as soon as he scooped up the dog to let her lay sweet doggy kisses all over his cherubic face.

Nick handed over the leash without a word and took the opportunity to order now that Harry had arrived. The queue wasn’t long enough to give him time to work himself up into a tizzy over what he was about to do, thankfully, but neither was it long enough to reassure himself that he was making the right call either.

Nick’s movements were almost mechanical as he paid at the till, collected their coffees, and then returned to the table, where Harry was waiting with Puppy sat obediently in his lap.

“Before you say anything, I just want you to know that you’re invited back to my flat when we’re finished our lattes.” Nick set both cups down in front of them and waited.

“Why?” Harry asked blankly, as if he had no possible clue what Nick was on about.

Nick let his eyebrows do the talking for him.

“Oh. Well, maybe we should still clear things up before we do that.”

Harry was pink-cheeked, clearly embarrassed even though he’d been angling to get into Nick’s trousers for going on months now, and Nick really wasn’t sure what to make of that. So yeah, actually chatting was probably a good idea.

“I’m guessing you thought I was. You know.” Harry sucked in a deep breath and waved a hand around, vague, but the context clues were enough that Nick knew right off what word was being omitted.

“Well, yeah. Aren’t you?” Nick felt off-balance suddenly. He’d arranged this meeting with every intention of finally satisfying Harry’s bicurious desires, but now things felt different. He wasn’t sure how to adjust.

Harry shook his head, frowning. “I mean, I don’t exactly know what I’d call myself,” he said slowly, “but I had a boyfriend in secondary school, Nick. And I’ve certainly done more with the lads than a few handjobs in the back of the bus.”

Nick winced at the reminder of their argument. “I just thought—”

“I know what you thought.”

“Maybe we should finish this up at my flat instead,” Nick said hastily. He was relieved when Harry finally nodded after a few seconds’ stone-faced contemplation.

Nick didn’t dare say anything on their way back. He busied himself with making sure Puppy had food and water and toys to occupy herself with as soon as they were through the door, ignoring Harry out of necessity, for the sake of his own mental well-being. He knew he couldn’t avoid him for much longer, but he needed a moment to collect himself before they tried this again.

“Come on, then,” he said once the dog was happy with her lot. He led Harry over to his bedroom, where they wouldn’t be disturbed by the pup while they talked. Or whatever.

Nick was careful not to touch Harry at all while he held the door open for him. When it closed, Harry jolted a little, like he hadn’t been expecting it.

“I wasn’t trying to use you as a one-off,” Harry said finally. He was staring up at Nick’s sterile white ceiling, pointedly avoiding Nick’s eyes. Not exactly the most encouraging thing in the world.

“Yeah, I figured as much after—I feel like a bit of a twat now.”

“You should.”

Nick winced, but there was a forgiving note in Harry’s tone that hadn’t been there before. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to,” Harry said evenly.

“Right, well.” Nick glanced around the bedroom uncomfortably. “I guess I should tell you that I don’t normally bottom,” he said, a bit apologetically. He hadn’t quite thought this thing all the way through. He wasn’t even sure penetration was on the table even though it had been a staple of some of his more unfettered fantasies.

“I guess it’s a good thing I don’t normally top,” Harry replied coolly, forcing Nick to spin around in surprise. “Also I fingered myself in the shower before I came by to meet you.”

“Oh.” Nick blinked at Harry a few times. So maybe in hindsight he’d been wrong about a lot of things. “Okay.”

“You know we don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable,” Harry said, already shrinking back in on himself again, pulling away from Nick as he took a step back, toward the door. “It’s fine, really. We can go back to being friends.”

“I don’t want to be friends with you,” Nick blurted out ungracefully. “I mean—shit, I mean, I don’t want to be just friends. I want—” He’d wanted Harry before he was even allowed to think it, certainly before he was allowed to have him, and if Harry left his bedroom now, Nick really thought he might die. “I want to do this,” he continued, forcing himself to slow down, “so long as you still want it.”

“So this isn’t just one-and-done, right?” Harry asked, thumbing anxiously at the top button on his coat.

Nick shook his head. “No,” he said. His earnestness was embarrassing, but he was suddenly incapable of keeping back the flood of emotion leaking into his voice. “As many times as you want.”

Harry smiled shyly. The button on his coat finally came undone. “How do you want me?” he asked in a voice that was unfairly sultry for a nineteen-year-old.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself not to think about the fact that he had a whole ten years on Harry. “You’ve been complaining about your back lately, haven’t you?” Nick remembered. “What position’s the most comfortable?”

Harry shrugged. “Missionary, I guess.”

Neither of them moved.

“You can use the shower if you need,” Nick said awkwardly as he gestured to the adjacent washroom. “There’s things under the sink, and…yeah.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Nick, when I said I fingered myself in the shower before I came to meet you, I mean I fingered myself in the shower _because_ I was coming to meet you.”

“Oh,” Nick replied, the lightbulb finally clicking on in his brain. “Fuck.”

“That was the plan, yeah.”

Nick was barely aware of his feet moving underneath him as he surged forward and scooped Harry up in his arms, their mouths colliding roughly as the younger boy coiled his long giraffe legs around Nick’s sturdier waist. Kissing Harry for the first time felt like the universe was ending, and Nick wasn’t sure how he was ever supposed to stop.

They spun around in wild circles before tumbling into bed, Nick angling himself at the very last second so that Harry would land on top of him. Harry’s back, he reminded himself. They had to mind Harry Styles’s delicate spine or the world would have Nick’s head on a pike.

They might anyway, if they knew what they were doing right now.

Nick rolled them over into something vaguely resembling missionary, per Harry’s request, only to realise belatedly that they both still had on all their clothes. Harry hadn’t even taken off his coat, for god’s sake.

“We need to—” Nick started to say, already pulling away so they could both get their kit off.

Harry locked his ankles at Nick’s back, keeping him from going anywhere. “Don’t you dare,” he warned as he tore at Nick’s belt buckle, quickly shoving his trousers and pants both down to mid-thigh so he could get a hand around Nick’s cock.

So he hadn’t been lying about the experience, at least.

“You mind if I grab a condom, love?” Nick asked as he stared down pensively at Harry’s hand around his own cock. Thank God for old age, Nick thought to himself, even though he wasn’t even thirty yet. Still, he had enough years on him that he wasn’t in danger of coming prematurely.

The same couldn’t be said for Harry, who was bucking up against Nick’s thighs like a cat in heat. He finally stilled at the query, releasing Nick from his hold. “Hurry,” he whined, shoving a hand down into his jeans impatiently.

Nick took a little longer than necessary just to punish him, but when he returned with his shirt unbuttoned to match his trousers, Harry had only just managed to shed his coat and get his fly undone.

“We don’t have to rush this,” Nick told him, even while he was already unrolling the condom.

“Nick, what don’t you understand about ‘I fingered myself in the shower’?” Harry said in obvious frustration.

It wasn’t like Nick had forgotten, but apparently he had failed—once again—to fully grasp the meaning of the statement. “You didn’t come?” he spluttered.

Harry shook his head frantically and kicked his legs around, trying in vain to urge Nick to move faster. Nick gave Harry a warning look that did bugger all, so he finally reached down and clamped his hands around Harry’s thighs, pushing them up into his chest.

Harry calmed down immediately. He didn’t protest even when Nick pushed his luck a little more and bent Harry almost fully in half before reaching underneath him to try and free him from his jeans.

Which he really should have done before taking care of the condom, he realised soon after beginning his attempt. The things were practically superglued on.

“Bloody hell, Popstar,” Nick muttered as he struggled to peel Harry’s skinny jeans down far enough to satisfy the both of them. “You couldn’t have worn a skirt or something to make things easier?”

“Maybe next time,” Harry replied breathily.

Nick swallowed hard and pretended not to hear him. He was impatient enough now to match Harry’s juvenile whining, and more than a little worried about losing his erection before he could actually stick it in. So literally as soon as Harry’s arse was exposed to the open air, Nick was slicking up his fingers and pressing them into a place he couldn’t even see properly thanks to Harry’s insistence on keeping his clothes on.

It was surprisingly easy to slip another digit inside after the first. Harry really did seem to know exactly what he was doing. And it wasn’t much longer before he was demanding more, and Nick fully intended to give it to him.

Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of actually being inside Harry, though.

It wasn’t like it was objectively any different than any of the other men he’d fucked since becoming attractive enough post-puberty to actually pull. But it was Harry, and that made all the difference somehow.

Nick was suddenly very glad they’d more or less agreed to do this again, because their first time was going to be messy, and uncoordinated, and over far too quick. Like any good first time should be.

Nick rabbited into him fast and graceless, wondering if Harry was actually getting anything out of it. His jeans were still in the way of his cock, but Harry had a hand down his pants at an awkward angle and was moaning loudly despite it.

“You good?” Nick gasped, barely getting the words out.

Harry nodded, even worse off than him somehow. He couldn’t seem to form a single comprehensible syllable as he writhed against Nick.

It was over even quicker than Nick had expected, for Harry at least, the hitches in his breath a tell-tale sign of his impending orgasm even if Nick was heretofore unfamiliar with the process. He drove in deep and stilled as Harry’s muscles locked up, his arse clenching down almost painfully around him.

Nick didn’t move again until Harry had gone completely lax underneath his body, and when he started thrusting, it was with single-minded focus. He fucked Harry like a ragdoll, and to Harry’s credit, he took it well, looking completely blissed out as Nick pushed him up the mattress, nearly bashing the boy’s skull into the headboard as he chased his orgasm.

Nick came so hard he saw stars, and for a moment he couldn’t even move at all. He just had to stay inside Harry and make peace with himself and the universe.

“How was that?” Nick wondered as he finally rolled over onto his back next to Harry, trousers still clinging to his thighs, condom an uncomfortable presence around his dick. He didn’t have the energy to reach down and pull it off just yet.

“Brilliant,” Harry replied, sounding for all the world like meant it.

It took Nick one look to confirm that yes, Harry did mean it. Ah, to be young again. So full of life.

Nick sat up with a groan and tied off the condom, tossing it into the rubbish bin near his bed to take care of later. Which meant he’d forget all about it until someone saw the damn thing and embarrassed him into changing the bin liners again.

He quickly stripped out of his trousers and shirt afterward, glancing over at Harry once he was in just his boxers to find that the boy had not followed suit. “You need a shower?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “Have to be somewhere by three,” he admitted. “But I’m a bit….” He trailed off, glancing down at his shirt and jeans, which were now thoroughly stained with his own fluids.

“Ah. Pity that.” Nick hopped off the bed and went straight to his bureau, rummaging around for something he didn’t think would stand out too much on Harry. The fit would be abysmal on any of the trousers, but there was no helping that. “That’s why we take off our clothing before we have sex, Harold,” Nick scolded as he started tossing clean clothes in Harry’s direction.

“Just wanted an excuse to take home some of your things,” Harry confessed sweetly.

Nick could smell the lie from a mile away. He rolled his eyes and chucked a pair of trousers at Harry. “You could’ve just asked.”

Harry changed while Nick was preoccupied with checking on Puppy, but he was still doing up the shirt when Nick came back in. The line of lurid bruising from navel to collarbone wasn’t exactly unexpected, but it still stung a bit. Nick had Harry now, but it didn’t mean he was the only one who could have him.

Realistically, Nick had always known that was the case, but it had been easier to ignore when he’d thought Harry was straight. He was easier to admire from a distance. Up close, Nick knew he would get hurt.

He pretended not to see.

Nick walked straight up to Harry once he was presentable again and dug his fingers into the slight give at his hips, though there was less of it now that the boy had become somewhat of a gym rat. He kissed the laugh right off of Harry’s lips.

“Make sure you give me a call when you’re around again, okay?” Nick said, leaving it as a question. The onus was on Harry now to pursue this if he decided later he wanted more. “Hopefully I was a good enough shag.”

“The best,” Harry replied with a smile.

“Bet you say that to all the lads.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” There was a mischievous sparkle in Harry’s eye. Nick wanted to kiss it right out of him. “Guess I’m off, then.”

“Places to be, people to sing to?”

“You know the drill.” He gave Nick a sickeningly sweet kiss on the cheek on his way out, and Nick positively melted, though he would never admit it. “See you around?”

“Of course.”

Puppy let out a plaintive wine as soon as Harry had gone. Nick sort of wanted to do the same, but it would have been less dignified in his case. He scooped up the dog, cradling her in his arms, and willing himself not to run to the window to watch Harry getting into his car.

“Don’t worry, Puppy,” he reassured the melancholy pup, her woeful expression merely a reflection of his own abrupt despondency. “We’ll be seeing him again soon.”


End file.
